My touch dispelled the venom from his veins.
He seemed to awake as from some awful dream. He passed his hand across his eyes.
He smiled.
Still clinging to his hand, I gently forced him to be seated upon a rocky bench, over which the ocean had woven a velvety covering of sea-grass and weeds.
“Antonius!” I cried, “peace come upon thee! Forget thy suffering. Be as thou once wert! My touch can give thee rest at least for a brief respite!”
He pressed my hand. A deep sigh lifted his breast. It was the last gasp of the demon which oppressed him.
He was now at rest.
To me his utterance was rapid but not more so than that of many quick thinkers with whom I had conversed.
“What wouldst thou?” said he, in a low but strangely sweet, mild voice.
I unfolded to him the object of my coming.